position than this phrase: "To mention his
name is like running up the flag of Norway"?

It seems peculiarly appropriate to follow up this essay with one on
Ibsen, who is as complete an antithesis to his great and popular rival
as could well be conceived. There is no bugle-call in the name Henrik
Ibsen. It is thin in sound, and can be spoken almost with closed lips.
You have no broad vowels and large consonants to fill your mouth as when
you say Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson. This difference in sound seems symbolic.
Ibsen is the solitary man, a scathing critic of society, a delver in the
depths of human nature, sceptical of all that men believe in and admire.
He has not, like Bjoernson, any faith in majorities; nay, he believes
that the indorsement of the majority is an argument against the wisdom
of a course of action or the truth of a proposition. The summary of this
poet's work and personality in Dr. Brandes's book is a masterpiece of
analytical criticism. It enriches and expands the territory of one's
thought. It is no less witty, no less epigrammatic, than Sainte-Beuve at
his best; and it has flashes of deeper insight than I have ever found in
Sainte-Beuve.

The last book of Dr. Brandes's that has been presented to the American
public is his "Impressions of Russia." The motto of this work (which in
the Danish edition is printed on the back of the title-page) is "Black
Earth," the significance of which is thus explained in the concluding
paragraph:

"Black earth, fertile soil, new soil, wheat soil ... the wide, rich,
warm nature ... the infinite expanses, which fill the soul with
melancholy and with hope ... the impenetrable, duskily mysterious ...
the mother-womb of new realities and new mysticism ... Russia, the
future."

The prophetic vagueness of this paragraph, big with dim possibilities,
conveys the very impression to which all observations and experiences in
Russia finally reduce themselves. It is the enduring residue which
remains when all evanescent impressions have lapsed into the background.
It expresses, too, the typical mental attitude of every Russian, be he
ever so Frenchified and denationalized. The word "Virgin Soil" was a
favorite phrase with Tourgueneff when speaking of his country, and he
used it as the title of his last novel. It seemed to him to explain
everything in Russian conditions that to the rest of the world appeared
enigmatical. The whole of Dr. Brandes's book is interpenetrated with
th